


Loser Takes All

by Ser_Thirst_A_Lot



Series: 🍷 (Handers-centric) DA Drunk Writing Circle ⭕️ [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders is a BAMF, Banter, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Rogue Hawke (Dragon Age), Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29570325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ser_Thirst_A_Lot/pseuds/Ser_Thirst_A_Lot
Summary: "Ready to give up, love?" Anders taunted him, fire coiling atop his staff. His preferred element and amenaceto deal with.Hawke mirrored his smirk. "Ready to seeyoulose, sweetheart."
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke
Series: 🍷 (Handers-centric) DA Drunk Writing Circle ⭕️ [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158695
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Loser Takes All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rainsong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainsong/gifts).



> Fire is Anders’ preferred element bc no mage who shouts “Suck on a fireball!” every five minutes can be anything other than an inferno mage, change my mind. Actually don't even try, it's pointless.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> 🎶 The world of Dragon Age is intrinsically connected to music. The Song of lyrium and the broken Song of its red counterpart, the Song of the Old Gods and the maddening music of the Calling, the Chant of Light, and the times of long past when 'everything sang the same.' To honor that, each of my DA fics will be accompanied by a soundtrack. For this one, it's **Stronger, Faster, Braver** by **Two Steps From Hell**

* * *

_Fucking Maker,_ Hawke thought, barely holding his ground as he blocked a violent telekinetic burst of energy with his enchanted blade and almost fell over trying, _sparring with Bethy_ _is_ never _this bloody hard._

Maybe, the rational part of his brain reminded him, that was because Bethany wasn't possessed by a spirit channeling a virtually limitless mana supply straight from the Fade. Said fact, of course, had completely slipped Hawke's mind when he countered Anders' suggestion of mindless cuddling during their picnic with an offer of a friendly spar; they'd never actually had one after all.

Less than an hour in and Hawke _wished_ it had stayed that way.

"Ready to give up, love?" Anders taunted him, fire coiling atop his staff. His preferred element and a _menace_ to deal with.

Hawke mirrored his smirk. "Ready to see _you_ lose, sweetheart."

Fuck it. Hawke talked his way into this mess, and Maker willing he'd fight his way out of it without giving Anders the satisfaction of hearing him complain. He could always whine to Varric later.

Anders' reply came in the form of a blinding blast of fire, and Hawke anticipated it well enough to dodge. He'd barely recovered his stance, though, when Anders disarmed him with a smirk and attacked with a cascade of fireballs that rained on Hawke in a rush of scorching heat. The air became heavy with it, laced also with the faint but distinct, stormy scent of the Fade, and the flames glided, harmless, over the clearing and the trees, targeting only Hawke. He jumped out of the way barely fast enough for just the _edges_ of his leathers to get singed a bit—and then Anders' hand started sizzling with the _unpleasant_ kind of electricity trick that meant to hurt instead of drag Hawke to the brink of pleasure.

Hawke cursed his impulsiveness. And the Maker once more, for good measure.

Anders, naturally, was smirking all the while, keeping his distance. Cloaked in a light sheen of electricity and waiting for an opening, for the right moment to strike.

Hawke would be damned if he gave him one. Holding his daggers steady, he tracked Anders' every move in turn. He chanced a tentative step closer, careful not to flinch even a little when Anders' spell fizzled brighter but didn't release; Hawke knew enough of his tells to know the difference between a feint and a genuine move to attack.

"Tired already, Garrett?" Anders cooed, with that impossibly smug grin Hawke wanted nothing more than to kiss away. "We could take a break if you like. I promise I won't tell."

Hawke inhaled deeply in hopes of concealing how out-of-breath he already was. "Please. I'm just getting started." He spun his daggers once, twice. A safe maneuver for the while and one that always gave him a rush of confidence. "I _have_ fought dragons before, you know. You're not exactly intimidating."

"Oh? And who was it that brought you back from the brink of death after?" Another step to the side, another bluffing twitch of Anders' fingers that Hawke pointedly ignored. "Every time, I might add."

"I'd have made it somehow."

"Hm. Doubtful."

"Doubtful is your ability to defeat me, Anders. Stop stalling—it doesn't make the fear go away."

The brief flash of annoyance in Anders' gaze was a good thing. As was the slight tension in his arm, the way he bit his lower lip in concentration and tightened his grip on his staff—the few seconds he was preparing for a _real_ attack.

Hawke deliberately stepped into it. Another one of his half-baked risky impulses of a plan, but those had yet to fail Hawke thus far, so he went for it.

He dodged the blast of lightning and ran forward, intent on getting close. It was a tricky but viable matter of _not_ crashing into Anders' sparse barriers and telekinetic foothold traps—invisible but humming with energy loudly enough for Hawke to sense them. He dodged some and broke through others, swift and sure, with his spirit-enchanted blade. Followed, finally, with a blow to Anders' staff strong enough to break his grip.

If only Anders wasn't quick as ever to react himself.

He threw his staff in the air at the last second he had left to avoid the slash of Hawke's blade, glided to the side, and called the weapon back with a telekinetic pull. One Hawke was prepared to intercept, grasping both his daggers with his right hand and the end of Anders' staff with his left, fighting against the force of the pull and shifting it so that the bladed end of it ended up pointing straight at Anders' chest.

Anders narrowed his eyes, still holding the spell, but not dragging the staff closer.

"Nice one," he conceded, with a half-hearted attempt to shift the direction of the staff. Hawke held it steady, though, and knew Anders wouldn't go overkill in fear of actually hurting him in what was to be a light-hearted spar. "Are you just going to stand there with that staff like an idiot? You know I don't actually need it to cast."

"Are you going to release the spell?" Garrett countered. "You know, I could and _will_ stand like this all day if you're too scared to take me on without it."

Anders wasn't, of course, and really, the only advantage his lack of weapon would give Hawke was less force in Anders' spells. Hawke saw enough of his lover fighting their enemies in close combat when he was cornered and staffless, Justice's power flaring through his veins, manifesting in skilled, elegant swordplay or the occasional debilitating punch.

Hawke threw the staff far into the mass of trees behind him as he felt Anders release it, making sure it landed out of sight so Anders couldn't recast the spell.

"If it gets lost," Anders warned him, "I _will_ murder you." At Hawke's raised eyebrow, he sighed. "Gently. With kisses, probably."

"A man after my own heart," Hawke laughed, and moved into another attack.

Anders did use more muted magic now—with his spellpower stronger than usual because of Justice's presence, a staff was essential for him to focus his magic. Maker knew Hawke watched him break at least eight staves with overpowered spells, and Anders certainly didn't want the same happening to his arms.

Strong, elegant arms that Hawke couldn't help but watch maybe a little too closely than necessary, their fluid movement a mesmerizing sight. Anders parried him blow for blow, using dense, blade-like barriers concentrated at his hands to shield and to strike. They devolved into a fervent dance, the space between them tense with the buzzing hum of enchanted metal, the sizzle of magic, harsh grunts and heavy breathing, as they advanced and separated, neither quite gaining the upper hand just yet.

They broke apart after a particularly violent clash, Hawke carefully stepping around the few buzzing traps strewn about the ground. He watched Anders swipe at and heal a cut on his arm, the sleeves of his light tunic torn in several places, showing and clinging to his sweat-slick skin.

Hawke's gaze lingered for a split second, a momentary flash of _want_ amid the rush of adrenaline, and in retrospect, that was probably the moment that sealed his loss.

Anders caught an opening and struck at him with a condensed lightning sphere that Hawke slashed in half—stepping away right into one of Anders' invisible traps he was a tad too distracted to notice just then.

Well, _fuck._

Hawke landed smack on his ass and found himself pinned by an equally invisible blade pressing not-too-gently against his throat—and surer still by the wild, wide amber eyes framed by a halo of disheveled hair glistening in the sunlight.

Hawke supposed he didn't mind the loss _that_ much.

"Got you, love." Anders panted hard, dropping the spell and sagging just a touch. "You all right?"

"More than all right if I get a sight like this, sweetheart." Hawke leered at him, unashamed, and Anders only rolled his eyes. "But Andraste's _fucking_ pyre, Anders, that was barely fair."

" _Life_ is unfair, Garrett. What d'you want me to do about it?"

Hawke spluttered. "Well, fucking _warn_ me next time about the effectively unlimited fucking mana supply? For a start?"

"Love, you've watched me fight for _years_ ," Anders pointed out, "have you ever seen my mana drained unless I've been healing patients _literally_ nonstop?"

"I thought you were chugging lyrium potions or something!" Precisely the reason Hawke had insisted Anders not use any during the spar, fat load of good that did him. "Like every other fucking mage I know."

"That's a bit redundant when Justice gives me a permanent link to the Fade, love."

"Mm, and his fighting abilities."

"Again, something you already knew." Anders smiled, kneeling down to straddle him. "Today's lesson, love, dearest— _don't_ underestimate a mage."

"Never again," Hawke promised with a hand solemnly placed over his heart, "oh most powerful, skillful, _beautiful_ mage supreme of Thedas."

Anders chuckled. "Quite the hefty title."

"Quite the impressive win."

"I get three wishes now, right?" Anders brought Hawke's hands to his lips, kissing away a nasty gash on his palm. "Since I was so impressive and all that."

" _One_ ," Hawke corrected him, hand gliding into Anders' hair and tangling in the locks like he'd wanted to do the minute it came untied. "Don't push it. And go on then. I'm ready. What embarrassingly terrible atrocity do you wish of me?"

Anders gazed down at him, grin widening, and judging by that mischievous glint in his eyes that Hawke knew oh so well, he's already made up his mind about his wish. He pretended to think about it regardless, and Hawke found himself unable to look away—from the curve of Anders' lips, the faint crinkles around his eyes, the unbridled joy Hawke so rarely sees on his face unless they both find themselves together, like this, away from the worries of a cursed city and a tainted world.

Hawke wished they never had to return.

"Your most passionate of kisses," Anders declared, finally. "And make it worth my while."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "First of all, it's _always_ worth your while. And second—how is that even a proper wish? That's not even a mild inconvenience for the loser here, but a proper prize."

"Then we both win."

"Yes, but still," Hawke insisted, "you can get a kiss any time you want."

Anders shrugged. "Well. Maybe that's all that makes me happy." His hand ran along Hawke's cheek—a tender, loving caress. "Maybe that's all I really want. Right now and any moment yet to com— _mph!_ "

Hawke cut him off with a kiss, half to fulfill the wish, half to drown out the almost painful pang of— _fullness_ , bubbly, sweet, and at the same time terrifying. His usual reaction whenever Anders spoke this way. Whenever he looked at him, Hawke, as if he were the most precious thing in existence, as if he meant the world. And perhaps Hawke did, to Anders, because Anders certainly meant as much to him.

He hoped the sentiment translated through the kiss. Not quite rough, but demanding. Tongue licking into Anders mouth as he drew him closer into a tighter embrace, felt the residual warmth of his magic sizzling against his skin, inhaled the scent of sweat, elfroot, and lyrium that was so unmistakably Anders and made him feel at home. He coaxed Anders' lips into a wicked dance meant to tease, to claim, to show the love Hawke felt with his entire being but doubted he'll ever be able to put into words, actions, or any kind of touch.

Which wouldn't stop him from trying, of course, and try he did.

Anders melted against him, little moans humming against Hawke's lips as he gave as much as he got, gripping Hawke's sides tight enough to bruise and drawing him impossibly closer—as if Hawke would ever dream of letting go.

A few perfect minutes passed in a haze of pure elation that was one of a kind. Surely, Hawke thought, whatever bliss they talked of that awaited at the Maker's side was nothing compared to being here, in his lover's arms.

They had to pull away eventually, but not too far and not for long. Out of breath, foreheads pressed together, gazing at each other with matching smiles.

"Well?" Hawke asked once the pleasant light-headedness subsided, returning him the power of speech. "Worth your while?"

"Every bit of it," Anders breathed.

"I do think we shouldn't stop here though, I'm afraid it might not be nearly enough to express all my passion," Hawke said in mock concern. "It's important to persevere in these matters, see."

"Oh?"

"Of course. Repeatedly. For scientific reasons, if anything. Finding the best techniques, and angles, and all that."

Anders grinned. "I like the way you think."

"I love how we're always on the same page."

"Why are we still talking, though?"

Hawke answered with a kiss, and another that followed it, and countless more as they surrendered to the idle pleasure, getting lost in the precious time they had left to themselves. The only time either one of them was truly happy—and at peace.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Hawke:** kissing Anders is essential. It's for s ci en c e
> 
> Thank you for the read! Kudos and comments massively appreciated💙💙💙
> 
> Find me proudly defending the Anders Simping Collective on  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/ser_arts_a_lot)  
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